Waiting Through Winter
by ErinNovelist
Summary: Lancelot just wanted a fun night out with his friends, but when he meets a young homeless boy huddled at the end of the alley way, he begins to remember the life he lived in Camelot. As he lends a hand to the boy, he discovers that there might be a possibility that the boy, the young Merlin, did not remember anything yet. Companion to the Forgetful Reincarnation. Pre-story.
1. Chapter 1

_Staring blankly ahead, making my way through the crowd._

* * *

The streets of New York City, New York, were crowded even at the late hour in the night; many handfuls of citizens scoped out at the local bars, and some simply conversed at the corners. The moon was nestled in a thick cloud cover, beams of illumination barely streaming into the darkness, unearthing Earth's nocturnal creatures. A light snow had already begun to fall which led bystanders to retreat indoors and away from the environment's harsh winter weather. The cold season was bearing down hard; a front from Canada was coming in, and it caused temperatures to plummet near zero. The icy sidewalks were littered with slush, and steam rose from the sewer grates. A dense cocoon of stillness had settled over the area, rendering the silent night to begin.

A lone figure huddled in an alley which was barren save for the rat that scurried about. Shadows crept about him, swirling ominously while the snow floated harmlessly around him. The figure pulled a blanket, the color of smooth ivory though stained with dirt and grime, tighter around his shoulders, the thin material serving as his only shelter. His teeth chattered as a wind whipped through the small space, shaking the man as if it could psychically crack him. The moon became completely hidden from view as the storm rolled in, ceasing its guiding light. The man, a newly-turned seventeen-year-old, hiccupped as he was rendered numb from the cold, the action jarring his frigid, damp bones. The temperature was dropping even more, and he longed for warmth. His eyes, a deep crystal color which contrasted widely his tousled and shaggy raven hair caught the sight of a lone piece of cardboard in the corner of the alley.

Wordlessly, the man scooted over to retrieve the trash and settled back in a comfortable position. "You need to survive," he murmured to himself. "That's the only reason you're doing this."

Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath before opening them, gold tinting the crystal, and he watched a small flame spark. Blowing out the breath he held in, the seventeen-year-old leaned against the brick building behind him, tracing the cracks in the stones with his calloused fingers. The cold nipped at his limps, shivers rocketing down his spine. He clasped his hand together under his chin; his fingers were white from the pressure he applied. He was shaking uncontrollably – either from the arctic air or stress, one couldn't be sure – he stared at the fire he had manifested with merely his mind. Of course, that is what a freak did, right?

At this thought, the man let out a low yet raspy cry as the tears welled up. He wanted so dearly to be normal, but ever since he was a baby, he had harnessed a rare ability he could only deem as a demonic power -_ magic_ almost. At times, it occurred in states of heightened emotions, but as time dragged on, he had learned to control the ability and nearly put a stop to it. He knew he was a freak, a supernatural psychopath, a man against nature. However, he never had answers as to why he was this way for he had spent his entire life in foster care, never having met his biological parents. But, after nearly two decades alone with no adoptions, no family, outcasted his entire life – he had learned to live with what he was – no matter how much he hated that society exiled him even if they didn't know the truth about him. He had so many questions: why was he never wanted? Why was he never cared for? Why did no one love him? Why was he this way?

Sniffling, he snuggled deeper in the sheet, tears rolling down his face as the cold air lashed at his face, the bitter action causing pain to flare in his aching body. He ducked his head into his own shoulder, the fringe that trailed over his ears falling across his forehead in some sort of comfort. A metal door that led to out to the alley in the building across from him swung open. The rat, which was stupid enough to crawl out in this weather, bolted across the alley, crawling over the teenager's worn-out black converses that were much too small. The man jumped slightly, a brush of frigidness striking him. Four men stepped out of the building, entering the alley; their voices carrying pass the wind.

A fifth member of the party was talking exuberantly when he caught sight of the boy huddled next to the fire, and he paused midsentence. "Honest to God, you street rat, why the hell are you starting a fire next to my club? Do you want me to call the cops and arrest you for arson? Go home!" He brought his shoe down on the burning cardboard, smothering the fire the boy had conjured. "Or better yet, go find another fucking night club and burn it to a crisp."

The boy raised his gaze to meet the piercing forest-green eyes of the club owner, panic flaring in them. He shook his head, unsure of what to do. "I don't have anywhere to go," he stammered out, shivering as the wind lashed out at him once more. "Please, just let me s-stay here… The h-homeless sh-shelter is full… They don't… don't have room f-for m-me."

The club owner, easily a forty-five-year-old man, kicked the wall next to the boy. "If I want an arsonist here, I'd hire one. Otherwise, I'm not employing an fire starter right now, so get the hell out of here."

"Hey, Mike," a booming voice called as a young man with shoulder-length copper hair withdrew himself from the remaining party of four, approaching the boy and the club owner – Mike – hesitantly. "What's wrong with this kid?" He inclined his head in the boy's direction, questioning his presence. "Everything all right here?"

"I'm telling him to go home, Eoin," Mike replied.

The boy shook his head feebly, the tears starting once more. "I t-told you. I don't h-have a home. The h-homeless shelt-ter is f-full. I need s-somewhere to s-stay t-tonight; it's f-freezing."

Mike stuck his nose in the air, disgusted by the poor homeless man's excuses. "I want you out of here."

Eoin turned his body towards the three behind him. "Santiago; Tom; Rupert... We can't leave this kid, here."

Three men, apparently older than the homeless boy in the alley by far, nodded, uneasy with the current situation though. The dark eyes of the man in the back, dubbed Santiago, widened as he caught a glimpse of the seventeen-year-old Mike and Eoin were towering over. He cocked his head as if analyzing the conditions, his dark hair falling into his line of vision.

"Does anyone recognize him?" Santiago hissed, facing his friends.

The other two set their sights on the cold boy, nudging Santiago forward in the process. "He looks like..." When the two others sent him a confused glance, he merely pushed them way. "Nevermind. You guys just go ."

The homeless boy buried his face in his blanket as Mike prodded at him to move and coolly asked him to leave. He ignored them in hopes of being awarded silence in surviving. He was broken and alone, fighting to survive. It wasn't long, however, when a comforting hand was placed on his numb shoulder. The only way he felt it was the way the fingers brushed against his soft hair, wet from the snow that clung to his scrawny figure.

"Do you need a ride somewhere?" Santiago questioned in a kind voice. It startled the boy, but the man proceeded to continue. "What's your name? Do you have anyone who can take you in?"

"My name's-s C-Colin," he whimpered. "I d-don't have anyone. I-I belong to the f-f-foster care, b-but I left-t." Normally, the teenager tended to avoid others due to the fact that they were all the same: heartless, selfish, and cruel. Something, however, provoked him to gaze at the older man with a hint of hope. Someting was different about him.

Santiago sighed, running a hand through his thick hair. "All right, Colin. Are you up to coming with us and I'll help you get a place to stay for a while until we can get you back on your feet?"

Colin, unbelieving the kindness of a simple stranger, stared blankly at him. "Huh?"

"Let's get you out of this cold - just for tonight, Colin, then tomorrow I'll see what I can do to help you."

Mutedly, the seventeen-year-old nodded, struck in disbelief. And, thus, then story began on the December night.

* * *

The room, a mix of black shadows and shades of grey, was lit with only a dim lamp beside the bed. Colin slept peacefully on it, sheets pulled tight around hisslumbering form. He was breathing deeply, and the patterns were evened out. A man entered the room he was resting in and hesitated for a moment, wondering if he should awake him.

"Are you sure about this?" Eoin asked from behind Santiago. His voice was low, nearly a murmur, but it was noticed nonetheless. "You don't even know this boy."

"He was just a kid. He's only a few years younger than us. I couldn't leave him out there," he said with a yawn, glancing at his tired friend beside him. "He reminds me of someone I know too."

"I don't think I could ever do what you did," Eoin admitted honestly. "Picking up a homeless kid from the street to give him a place to stay for the night. I'd be worried that he would steal something."

Santiago shook his head, the green eyes full of regret. "I only saw a helpless boy. I know it's stupid and probably not the normal thing to do, but he needed help and I could give it. I'll talk to him in the morning, see if I can offer anything else, but you know as well as I do that he wouldn't of lasted the night. If we had left him in that alley, he'd be dead come morning."

"You're a good person," his friend retorted, smiling slightly. "I'll take the couch tonight and you can have my room."

"It's fine," Sanitago reassured, "I want to be here when he wakes up. He'll probably be scared out of his mind. I don't want him to freak out."

A groggy voice answered the statement. "Santiago, he'll be fine. It's nearly two in the morning, just take my freaking bed and I'll sleep out here. It's the least I can do."

"I'm perfectly fine with the couch."

He shrugged. "So there really isn't anything I can do to make you change your mind, is there?"

The other male leaned against the wall, eyes staring at the slumbering boy. "No, you can't. Go to bed, Eoin."

Turning toweards his room, he nudged him. "You too... And you sure you're alright for the night?"

"I will," he assured him. "I'm fine, really… Just go on."

Eoin nodded, and hesitantly, he backed out of the room, but not before Santiago ushered for him to keep the sound level down. When his friend had vacated the hallway of the apartment they shared in the heart of New York City, he turned his attention to he hopeless boy in front of him, the one who had in the past so long ago offered him hope where there was none. The moment he had laid his eyes on the boy, his memories as a Knight Of Camelot whispered in his ear that it was necessary that he bring him home and offer him shelter. It had only been a few hours since he remembered the past he shared with the boy, but he already knew more than enough to frame a reason for his spontaneous actions.

"Oh, Merlin," Lancelot whispered softly, knowing full on that Gwaine and the warlock were unable to hear him. "Even if this life you have it hard."

* * *

Silent ensued the seventeen-year-old in his world of dreams, enveloping him a warm embrace, tucking him gently under its neck. Images flickered behind Colin's eyelids, blotches of color that he didn't even know existed, filling the void of his empty heart. However, soon enough, the colors blended together, their different shades and hues mixing to form pixilated pictures, dancing across his mind.

_A bed sat in the corner of a room, light streaming through the open window, and trilling bells reverberated off of the ivory-colored walls. Throwing back the worn sheet on the bed, a head of dark hair peeked out from under it. Coffee eyes - so much like Santiago's own – were visible. It was an older man, easily in his early twenties, who was smiling with pearl-like teeth. He ambled over to where his sword and sheath was placed in front of the wardrobe. His eyes flickered to the open window, a cool breeze filling the room._

_"Merlin," he called when he exited the room, gathering his supplies. A man who Colin resembled as himself except in worn clothing, as if dated centuries back, was seated on the stairs leading up to the room. The adjourning room that was the main one was blurred as if he was peering through murky glass to see the dream surroundings. "Thanks for allowing me a shelter."_

_"It was pouring rain outside, Lancelot, and I don't think Arthur would be happy with you rooming with Gwen."_

_The scene froze on Merlin and Lancelot as he grinned down at the warlock. "Again, I offer my gratitude."_

_"Any friend would do the same."_

Colin's mind let the scene fade to black, and he could not make sense of it. An emotion he couldn't name filled his heart as, in reality, his head rolled forward in his sleep onto something soft. A voice filled his ears._ "Any friend would do the same."  
_  
In his dream state, Colin opened his lips and single word escaped them. "Lancelot…"

If he concentrated enough, the silence which droned on around him was disturbed by his stutters of breath, interrupting the serene setting he had been subjected too ever since passing out in the back of the car the night before. Wordlessly, he attempted to open his eyes to see just where fate had inevitably taken him after the man had saved him from possible death in the frigid winter evening. The December night had been a long and treacherous in the few hours he had spent huddled at the end of the alley, so even though he felt a certain type of warmth he remembers in his deepest dreams, the throbbing of his head and raw feeling in his throat told him he was suffering from the effects the environment had bestowed upon him. Even though he was used to this after escaping foster care, Colin still loathed the peril he faced by living in the winter storms when the rest of New York City was exposed to shelter, family, and heat.

Mutedly, he blearily blinked, his eyes glazed over with a dull, glassy look as he tried to focus onto his surroundings. What struck him as odd was the fact that it was not hard cement under his frail form but rather a soft mattress with a pile of blankets cocooned around him, mounds nestling him close like a mother would her babe. Colin shook his head, dusting the cobwebs from his memories as he fought to gather his thoughts and regain his bearings. Breathing deeply, tasting the faint scent of cologne and peppermint in the air, he pushed himself off of the comfortable bed he was laid upon. This unfamiliar room he was stationed was furnished much like an actual bedroom, and he concluded that it _was_– not that he was arguing, but how in the world did he possibly end up here?

There was a sound to his direct right, and Colin whipped his head in its direction, eyebrows raising in surprise when he recognized the older man from yesterday. "Oh… I'm sorry. I didn't mean to wake you…" he apologized with a sheepish expression.

_Santaigo_, Colin reminded himself as he pushed himself forward, twisting his torso slightly to stretch out his muscles. "No… It's fine; I just woke up… Uhm… Where am I?"

"You don't remember what happened last night." It was a statement and in no ways a question, a mere observation of the current situation at hand.

The homeless boy nodded, unsure of how to proceed with the predicament, narrowing his eyes in concentration. "The last thing I remember is the alley and you and your friends offering to help me."

"I'm amazed you know that much," Santiago grumbled under his breath, biting back a snort. "By staying out in that blizzard, I'm surprised you're awake. I assumed you were malnourished and dehydrated and exhausted which is why you passed out the minute we got you in the car. You looked a little lost too…. Do you feel all right now?" He cocked his head, staring at the younger boy's frail figure, noticing the faint tremble which passed over Colin's body every so often. "You really shouldn't be getting up."

Colin's tongue felt like rubber in his throat as he thickly swallowed. "I stayed here all night? Was I sick?" The fears were choking im; when he was sick or distressed, his magic went haywire.

Santiago pursed his lips in a firm expression, observing the panic and fear apparent on the homeless one's face. "When someone passes out and I have to pick him up and realize he has a fever and is light as hell may cause another to believe that something's wrong with them." Colin bit his bottom lip as guilt decorated his frame, noting for the first time that he did feel as awful as the other had described. "Anyways, I couldn't exactly leave you out there in that storm, ill or not."

"I'm sorry for trespassing," Colin said, making a move to stand up, "I'll go right now, and you don't have to deal with me-"

Santiago widened his eyes in panic at the actions of the boy. "No, you need to stay here. We didn't help you just-"

"No, I think you really need to let me go-" Colin was growing frantic now at the thought of being forced to reside here, knowing he had neither the money to pay for their hospitalities or the capability to restrain his emotions which would automatically trigger his abilities and possibly injure someone. "You need to-"

"No, I think you should-"

"I mean it-"

"Seriously-"

"Just let me help you."

"I said,_ LEAVE ME ALONE!" _

With Colin's thundering words, the lamp beside him burst into flame, pulling Sanitago and him out of their perspective reveries.

Colin jumped back in fear, eyes shining with unshed tears at the events while Santiago stood, wide-eyed, as if seeing the sun for the first time. Colin gathered his well-worn converses from the floor, nearly tripping over his own feet in the process of escaping the scene. Meanwhile, the older man reached out instinctively to grasp Colin's arm and prevent him from taking his leave which only provided the man with more harm than good. He ripped his limb away from the stranger, feeling heat rush to his head suddenly, and in the mirror across the room, he noticed his reflection's eyes flash a deep gold, visibly unnatural. With a startled yelp, Santiago pulled away, shoving Colin away from him in panic, feeling the rush of power tingle at his fingertips. Before he knew it, he was sent flying into the opposite wall. Colin screamed in terror, closing his eyes in alarm, and before he knew it, the sheets on the bed erupting into a bonfire, startling Santiago even further.

"You need to calm down, Colin!" Santiago bellowed out, only to have the teenager take his distracted state to his advantage and make a bolt for the door, startling Eoin as he was leaving his room.

When the fellow roomate saw the state of Santiago's room, he rushed to retrieve a fire extinquisher to calm the flames. Meanwhile, Santiago felt tears well up in his eyes. It was obvious; Merlin did not have his memories nor control over his magic.

Sometime later, he could see Coin sprinting down the busy New York street, towards the alley way he had been discovered in last night. The older man withheld himself from chasing the latter down, knowing it would send the boy into a panic and possibly hurt someone.

He just had to wait for his friend to find them.

Outside, the winter continued, leaving Santiago time to begin waiting.


	2. Chapter 2

_Walking fast, faces past, making my way through the crowd._

* * *

He isn't supposed to seek comfort for himself, because he's just the freak of nature from the foster system who will die on the streets and finally rid of the pain he suffers from daily, good as a stress reliever only.

But he is a boy in desperate need of a saving grace, and that man... _Santiago..._ offered a once-in-a-lifetime chance to heal some of the wounds that were scarred over and mottled. He could erase the splotches of blue and purple that adjourned his frail body. He could stop the pain stemming from reality itself. He could give the boy a purpose. He was a Knight, but the boy was afraid. Just because every once in a while his emotions get a hold of him and ruins any hope he ever holds close.

He starts to think about what could be if he ever accepted an aide from someone who offered it. What would occur if someone took him in. What would happen if someone cared? Would his life be different? Would his appearance become someone full of life, high on imagination, and facing the benefits of optimism? His dreams start to get the best of him, but each time they are close to coming true, they are snatched away because of his magic, and he is only left with the cloud of desire swirling between lingering fingers.

When he turned seventeen, he fled the foster system and away from the ghoul who wished to harness his abilities for evil. The idea of power corrupted his foster father, and no one ever paid a span of attention, spared his situation a second glance. He woke up in the middle of the night, screaming as sweat broke out across his brow, phantom pain succumbing to the brutal agony of reality's hands.

Going into this particular home, he was a bit apprehensive because the man had seemed too perfect to be real... That man... (_Cenrad_ was his name..._ No, no, no_... That was in his nightmares. His foster father's name was Tom, right? Oh gods, he truly was mental...) Nonetheless, he had a reason to be particularly cautious when introduced into Tom's household. The minute the social worker closed that heavy, maple door of the apartment, the poor boy was against the wall, white-knuckled hands wrapped around his neck, words hissing through his ears, revenge at the tip of the man's tongue.

What had he done in the five seconds to cause so much hatred?

Luckily, after spending his entire life in the foster care, he had become more serious as time wore on, and he learned more about how life was and what he would have to do to survive. (There was a possibility he never would). Slowly, the heartbreak become a permanent fixture in his crystal orbs, dulled with the pain of everyday life, and the smiles came less and less. He lived in the memories his dreams provided him with: a young woman who laughed as the wind whistled through the magnolia trees bordered a village, when he would huge her and she would kiss him on the cheek, regardless of his age, both laughing loud and joy emitting from them in huge loads. Suddenly, his subconscious takes over, and it makes him happy...

But then they soon turned into nightmares when he reached the age of six (here he met the first abusive foster parent, _Michelle_), and the boy was sentenced to a life of misery (still he held onto those first six years of dreams of that woman who he wished he had in his life, but it was merely a delusion his decreasing mental sanity had conjured up).

So he keeps attempting to make the best of his pain, however, Tom ripped everything from him. He abused him, used him, tormented him... The boy fled from his custody, and after two months, the police pick up his trail and attempt to return him, but he had just turned seventeen, and the winter was hitting, and the search became hard. He took a wrong turn and ended up in an alley way, later cornered by the club owner, and then approached by that man...

Santiago.

* * *

Santiago finds _Colin _in the alley way, tears streaking down his face. The boy is scared and helpless; he needs someone to help him, and Santiago does the only thing he possibly could.

He draws upon the memories he is rapidly regaining, and becomes Lancelot, the Knight in Shining Armor to Camelot, to her citizens, to her protector - to Emrys - to Merlin - to _Colin. _Lancelot embraces his past life, and he becomes what Colin needs. He wonder if the boy remembers Camelot at all, some remnants of the past life must exist somewhere, but he highly doubts that. It's possible that he doesn't understand.

He is the strongest person alive, even though he is only seventeen.

He approaches Colin slowly, remembering how, for a time, he would see him every day but wouldn't talk because he had work to do, being a servant and all (plus, they didn't need words. Their friendship was stable and worked with gazes at times). Some nights, though, when they were alone and Lancelot would walk into Merlin's chambers back when he roomed with Gaius, he'd catch the warlock peering over the top of his magic book with a wide grin, and the two would stay up for hours on end, smiling and laughing at Merlin's magic tricks. (Lancelot longs for those older, more innocent days).

It's not like it was before. Colin is there, huddling next to a dumpster, shaking and whispering quietly, and as quietly as Lancelot is possible of, he ambles closer.

"I won't hurt you, my friend," he admits, holding his hands out in a peaceful gesture.

It is as though he was waiting for him, but he still starts in surprise, disbelief flickering in his blood-shot eyes. His mouth hangs open slightly, but he refrains from speaking. Lancelot smirks a little and hopes that Colin will not harness any hostile emotions towards him.

For a second he stares at him as though he is the enemy before letting the first wall down. "Hello."

"I'm not going to hurt you."

Colin hesitates, unsure of the situation, before dropping the second. "I know."

Lancelot smiles widely, the bold and blissful atmosphere radiating as if a sun in its own galaxy. "I won't tell about your magic."

He doesn't respond at first, but Lancelot sits next to him, rocking back on his haunches, and Colin flinches inwardly. "I don't trust you."

"I think I may be able to help you... Or rather know someone who can." Colin raised his head in curiosity, and Lancelot took it as a sign to continue. "There's this doctor downtown who took care of my roommate a couple weeks ago. His name is Richard Wilson. I think he might know some things about your condition."

Colin ducks his head from the Knight's view, but the older man reaches out and grasps his hand, pulling him close so he can't ignore the stranger. "Will you let me help you, Colin?"

* * *

In the end, he knew it was too good to be true.

He knew that the stranger would eventually forget about him, and that the help offered would disappear the moment he left his third and final wall down. (Little did Colin know that the stranger held the boy close to his heart, because the boy was more important in more ways than he realized, ways he did not yet know, ways that would make his panic soar in the coming months).

The moment they come out of the alley way, the club owner (was Mike his name?) corners them, a shadow hovering over his shoulder. (Colin recognizes the gleam in the cold eyes that are covered with a hint of evil - how had Tom found him?) That man (Santiago) protested profusely as his foster father grips his wrist, pulling him forward, the whisper of a promise of suffering that night for the trouble the boy had caused him.

He loses site of Santiago and they do not say goodbye, even though he can somehow read it in the other's eyes. It was a solemn request to escape and come back, a note of finality that he would never give up.

The boy does not cry, instead the tears burn at the front of his eyes, and finally spill when the new bruises throb, he holds his broken wrist to his chest, and cries out when Tom grounds the heel of his boot into his stomach, splintering any hopes Colin has for a better life.

Eventually, the poor boy moves on because he must, and the stranger is soon a spot of possibility in a sea of shrouded ignorance covering reality.

(Even though Santiago is gone, Colin swears never to forget him. He remembers the hospitality the man offered, the acceptance in his eyes, and the name he gave).

Colin will always remember.


	3. Chapter 3

**Dear Readers,  
**

The continuation of this story can be found in**:  
**

**The Forgetful Reincarnation  
**(found in my author profile)**  
**

s/8276222/1/The-Forgetful-Reincarnation

* * *

_**(c) January 2013**  
_


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